


all the broken hearts in the world still beat

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: It’s been almost a year since Nelson, Murdock & Page got back together in the business sense, but Karen’s feeling like things are never going to happen with Matt.





	all the broken hearts in the world still beat

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to irelandhoneybee and Quietshade for encouraging me to finally post this, which I wrote a couple months ago.
> 
> NM&P office manager [Wendy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804363/chapters/46889608) from the [Lucasverse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1199821) is used with permission, though nothing here should be taken as canonical for the Lucasverse. ;)
> 
> Title from [Girls Chase Boys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GBT37_yyzY).

The text came at 3:36 a.m.

_Are you OK?_

It was Matt, of course, and of course she wasn't.

Karen had been sobbing into her pillow for the last five minutes and there was zero chance that this message of concern was a coincidence.

_Are you spying on me?_

She tapped to send the message, then wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie as she watched the undulating dots on the screen.

_No, _the answer came back. _Just close by._

_I’m fine, _she typed_. Bad dream._

And she managed to pack two lies into just four words. Because, first of all, she was miserable. And secondly, the dream was far from bad.

But she couldn't tell Matt that.

The dream hadn't been the very best kind of Matt dream — the ones that left her breathless, twisted in the sheets. And it also hadn't been the bad kind of Matt dream — the ones where he was bleeding out or buried under rubble or yelling that she was a murderer.

No, the dream had been the one where the man in black was saving her in the rain-soaked alley. Except, in the dream version, when she choked out _Who—?, _he walked toward her and lifted his mask enough for her to see his face. And at her shocked _How—?,_ he told her he'd explain everything if she waited back at his apartment. And, as he pulled the mask back into place, she could see the shape of her entire life shifting. How everything would be different.

That dream always made her cry.

She knew it wasn't fair to look back and wish Matt had made a different choice that night. To put all of this on him. It wasn't like Secret Identity Ethics was a seminar he could've taken at Columbia. And anyway, he'd literally just met her. He had no idea what they would come to mean to each other.

But Karen had been preoccupied with it lately, with what-ifs and if-onlys. It had been almost a year since they'd gotten the band back together as Nelson, Murdock & Page, and she was feeling increasingly distressed about what the future held for them. She was very much afraid that she and Matt were never going to work it out, that Matt was never going to want to try again, and she was still going to have to be around him every day, pining for him just as hard as in those early days that seemed simpler but were anything but.

It was so goddamn embarrassing that she had never actually fallen out of love with him. She'd denied her true feelings for Matt to anyone who asked (not that there were many who dared), but alone in her bed at nearly four o'clock in the morning, there was nobody to buy her bullshit. No matter how many fucked-up choices they made, no matter how much they got it wrong, she couldn't shake him. She wanted that charming, masochistic, heroic, secretive bastard anyway.

_If you want company, open the window. Otherwise, I'll go._

Oh. She hadn't been expecting that. Her lies were supposed to placate him. She pictured him on a rooftop or something, listening to her messages and waiting to hear what she would do. It made her smile a little. And she should probably just stay in bed, let him go home, but her feet were already on the floor and she was moving to push open the window he'd come through before.

She leaned out to look for him and saw nothing. But as soon as she pulled her head back inside, he was there.

"Hey," he said, closing the window behind him and pulling off the mask.

"Hi." She crossed her arms over her chest at the chilly air that had accompanied him inside, suddenly aware she wasn't wearing much — her shorts were short and her tank top skimpy. Thank goodness she had the hoodie on top. "You know, I'm really OK. You didn't have to—"

But he had been getting rapidly paler as she spoke and she surged forward to support him as he staggered heavily. Clearly, _he_ was not OK.

"Sorry," he breathed. He was mostly supporting his own weight again, but his forehead was slumped against her shoulder. "I guess it's worse than I thought."

"Jesus, Matt," she said, realizing her hand was on a wet patch on his back. It came away red. "Shit."

She helped him sit down on one of the benches at her kitchen table.

"Can you...?" she asked, tugging a little at the neck of his shirt. He breathed in deeply, first freeing his hands, then pulling off his shirt.

She felt a little dizzy even before she saw his wounds. Nothing seemed too deep, which was a major blessing, but he was scratched all to hell.

"Fell," was all he said.

When she finished patching him up, she helped him move to the couch before she put her first aid supplies away in the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks in the mirror above the sink as she washed her hands. She couldn't deny the little rush she was feeling. Part of her liked taking care of Matt. While she wouldn't say she _wanted_ this life exactly — no sane person would volunteer for a relationship involving this much blood and trauma — it felt right. It felt like hers. _He_ felt like hers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked when she came back. He was sitting on the couch, his head resting on the back, face pointing at the ceiling. "Your dream?"

She inhaled sharply, forgetting for a second that she had ever told him she had a bad dream. All she could think about was Dream Matt in the rainy alley, lifting up his mask, letting her in.

She played it off into a chuckle. "Matt, you're barely conscious. It can wait."

"I should go home," he said, his eyes drifting closed.

She grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and covered him up. His breathing was already deep and even, so she let herself run her fingertips through the hair at his temple, very lightly. He half-smiled dreamily and she had to force herself to walk away.

* * *

When she woke up, it was afternoon.

She almost couldn't believe it. She hadn't slept this late in ages. She was generally up on the early side, no matter how little sleep she'd gotten.

She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then headed for the coffee maker. She assumed Matt was long gone, so it was a shock to see him still sleeping on the couch. At some point, he had gotten his boots off and he was stretched out in a more comfortable position than she'd left him.

"Morning," he said as she stared at him. Other than to get that one word out, he didn't move a muscle.

Suddenly it dawned on her. "You can't get up, can you?"

"I _can_ get up," he insisted. "But at the moment, I would strongly prefer not to."

She grinned. "Coffee?"

"Mmmm," he said. A smile was playing at his lips and he looked more relaxed then she'd ever seen him. She was practically vibrating with the desire to lean down and kiss him.

When she came back from the kitchen, she put their mugs on the coffee table. "You're going to have to sit up to drink this."

He finally blinked his eyes open. He groaned but shifted forward. She carefully stuffed a pillow behind him to prop him up, and he smiled gratefully in her direction. She handed him a mug. "Thank you," he said. But at the first sip, he made a hilarious face, clearly trying not to grimace. "I forgot about your coffee."

"Hey!" she said. "I can take that caffeine fix away, mister."

"No, it's good," he said dubiously, taking another sip.

"You're just spoiled by Wendy's coffee," Karen said. Their new office manager was a coffee-making virtuoso.

"Wendy's coffee has been very good for us," Matt responded. "Not only are we all more motivated to get to work in the morning, but our clients think we're classier than we are."

Karen couldn't exactly argue with that. Now that Matt was sitting up, there was room for her at the end of the couch, so she tucked herself in at his feet, warming her hands around her cup.

And holy shit, she wanted this. Lazy hours on weekends, Matt's slow smile, the cozy safety of it all.

"This is nice," she said, though it set off a warning bell in her own head. "Having you here."

His smile widened. "I like it here," he said. "It's...familiar."

And he hadn't spent all that much time in her apartment, so that had to mean that it was her he sensed all around. She felt warmth stirring in her chest.

"But I feel bad," he continued. "I came because you were upset and all I ended up doing was imposing on your hospitality."

"It's not a big deal. Seriously. And I liked having company for once."

"Have you been...lonely?" he asked. The question had started lightly enough, but he tripped over the last word, like he’d caught himself giving something away.

“No,” she said quickly, airily. Unconvincingly. "Well, maybe a little. But not right now."

He sighed. "I don't like to hear that."

"You..." She looked down in her coffee cup and took a deep breath, screwing up her courage. If she was crying into her pillow over him anyway, she should at least give speaking up a shot, right?

"You could do something about it," she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. "Maybe we could...try again."

"You don't mean that," he said softly.

She turned to look at his face for a moment, then looked away. "And what if I do?"

"I'd just screw it up. I always do."

"Matt..."

But it was too late. She'd heaved a big rock into their little oasis of comfort and now it was nothing but waves.

"It's late. I should..." He was getting to his feet, slowly, clearly still aching. "I've got—"

"You don't have to—"

"—work I've got to do."

She nodded, biting her lip. She found his shirt and tossed it to him, noticing that it was ripped in a few places. He pulled it on, then sat down to put on his boots, groaning a little under his breath.

"Here," she said, unzipping her hoodie and taking it off. It was one of the few items of clothing she had that she thought he could actually wear. "If you want something to cover up a little."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said, passing it to him along with his mask. He stuffed the latter into a pocket.

She shivered, standing there in her tank and short-shorts. Hopefully he wasn't too aware of what she was wearing.

"Karen..." Matt walked over and reached up to touch her cheek tenderly. His hand slid into her hair and he tilted her head down a little so he could kiss her forehead. "You deserve someone who can make you happy," he whispered.

* * *

Everything was awful after that. She and Matt could hardly handle being in the same room.

After a week of awkwardness and tension, Foggy marched Karen into Josie's and sat her at the bar. He waited until she'd had exactly one sip of whiskey before beginning.

"I have zero desire to play monkey in the middle, but you two are turning the entire office into sad pandas with your moping," he said. "Wendy and I actually went _out_ for coffee yesterday. For _coffee_! One of the few things our office does well. How can we fix this?"

"You can't, Foggy. It's unfixable." Karen took another swallow, a big one this time. It made her eyes water. At least that's what she was blaming it on.

"You really don't want to give it another try?" Foggy seemed disappointed.

"Me?" Karen made an incredulous sound.

"No way! _He's_ the one who..."

"He...He doesn't want me." Fresh pain spread through her at her own words. It was the first time she'd actually said it out loud.

"That's impossible. Did he actually say that?"

She shrugged. "He said he'd screw it up."

"And did you consider that he probably means just that?"

"'It's not you, it's me.' 'You deserve better.' Those are the things you say when you're looking for an out." She shook her head sadly.

"Maybe for most people, but this is Matt we're talking about. Of all his super senses, the most powerful is his ability to feel guilt. He hurt you a lot. He doesn't want to do it again."

"So I'm supposed to be miserable for the rest of my life because he's afraid he _might_ hurt me? Great plan."

Foggy looked at her with wide eyes. "The rest of your—wow. You really...?"

She felt her face get hot and she rolled her eyes. "If my feelings were going to change, I think it would have happened by now, y'know? With everything we went through...."

"He's come a long way in the last year," Foggy said. "Maybe you just need to remind him of that. He's proven that he can be better, right?"

"I thought so." She tilted her drink back and forth contemplatively. "But this is the same old shit. He doesn't wanna let me in. He's trying to 'protect' me."

Foggy's face scrunched up. "Karen, I wouldn't say this if you...if you hadn't said what you said before," he said. "But I think you need to put all your cards on the table. Won't you regret it if you don't?"

* * *

She knocked on the door at 3:36 a.m.

She’d been drinking but she wasn’t drunk. She hadn’t been able to face the idea of her lonely apartment, so she’d stayed with Foggy at Josie’s until the lady herself finally kicked them out at 3 a.m. Then they’d talked a little more on the sidewalk until they could get cabs home.

But once she pulled the door of the taxi closed, the address Karen gave wasn’t her own.

This was stupid. Matt probably wasn’t even home. And what was she even going to—

He opened the door. “Hey. Come in.”

Matt didn't seem all that surprised that she'd come. But the sight of him in the dim light caught her off guard. His hair was wet and his chest bare beneath an unzipped sweatshirt. She faltered.

“Are you sure? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Karen. Please come in.”

She waited until the door was closed and they were standing in his living room and then she started again. Now that she was here, she needed to get this out before she lost her nerve completely.

“Look, I just think maybe we should talk more about this. I’m...unhappy and Foggy says you are too and—“

This time, she cut herself off as the billboard outside the window went brighter and she saw it. The hoodie Matt was wearing. It was hers. Her heart started to thump even louder as she moved closer. He didn’t retreat. She reached up and tugged a little on one of the cords hanging from his neck.

“It’s...familiar,” he said with a tight smile.

His hand came up to cover hers and he guided it to lie flat over his heart.

"I hate this, Karen. No matter what I do, I hurt you, and I can't take it."

His pained face and the hoodie and Foggy’s words were combining to make her brave.

"Why can’t you just trust me?" she asked.

“I—I do,” he spluttered.

“Matt,” she said, more forcefully, “why can’t you let me decide? Why can’t you trust that I know I want to be with you?”

He shook his head and pulled away, his hands fidgeting, his feet pacing. “Karen—“

“Answer the question.”

“Because you shouldn’t!” he said roughly. “You shouldn’t want this.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that,” Karen said, closing the distance he'd put between them. “I know what’s right for me.” She reached her hands up to his face, holding it still. “And this?” She pressed her lips to his, just once, and so very, very lightly. “This is right,” she whispered. “Tell me you don’t feel it and I’ll go.”

He kissed her back with an eagerness that almost knocked her off her feet. "Don’t go," he murmured, his arms closing around her. "Please. Please don't go."

* * *

When she woke up, it was afternoon.

It was less of a surprise than it had been the last time, given that she knew they had been drowsing off and on for most of the day.

They had kissed and talked, talked and kissed, until neither talking nor kissing was enough anymore. And then she had taken her sweatshirt off of him and wrapped herself around him instead.

They were still all tangled together, in a way that was more about emotional comfort than the physical kind. “Your arm has got to be falling asleep,” Matt was whispering, running his fingers through her hair.

“It is,” she answered, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to do anything about it. Matt was the one to move, repositioning her so she was lying completely on top of him. He rubbed her tingling arm.

“That’s better,” he said.

She laughed. “I think your entire body is going to go numb like this. Maybe we should get up.”

“We _could_,” he said. “But at the moment, I would strongly prefer not to."

“Not even for coffee?” she teased.

“Not even for _Wendy’s_ coffee,” he teased back.

She smacked him playfully on the chest and he moved deliciously beneath her, all those muscles rippling. And it wasn’t just her arm that was tingling.

And here it was, for real this time — lazy hours on weekends, Matt's slow smile, the cozy safety of it all.

Exactly what she wanted.


End file.
